Don't Scream (9780307823526) (15 page)

Shade cut off the sun, puddling the ground under the trees with a soft, speckled blue haze. This time I didn't turn toward the bay. Instead I walked silently over the spongy ground into a darker, more heavily wooded area, cautiously moving from clearing to clearing.

I hadn't gone all that far when I stopped short, startled at the sight of two small mounds. They lay close together, and a large, square floor tile of red
clay rested on each. On the surface of each tile something had been written in what looked like black paint. Holding my breath, I forced myself to step closer.

On one tile was written “Peaches” and the date she had disappeared. On the other was printed “Pepper,” the date, and the inscription, “Here's a little ghost for you.”

I shuddered, my body twitching as though it would never stop.

Hands gripped my shoulders. I jumped. Scott's voice said, “I tried to keep you from seeing these.”

I jerked away in horror and whirled to face him. “You followed me again!”

“I knew you'd come.”

I took a step backward. “Telling me to stay out of the woods was your way of luring me here?”

Scott shook his head. “I shouldn't have said anything about the woods, but your neighbor Mark Malik forced the point. He wanted to set a date to explore.”

“These are graves for Pepper and Peaches. How did you know the graves were here?” I demanded.

“I—I accidentally came across them.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” I said furiously.

Scott's glance shifted to the pair of graves, and he spoke in a whisper. “This was the way I buried my cousin's cat.”

In a panic, I backed away. “You … you did this?”

“Jess, I …”

Scott raised his eyes to look at me, and in the gathering dusk they seemed dark and fearful. I blocked out whatever he was telling me and turned to run.

Tripping, falling, and staggering to my feet, I rushed from clearing to clearing and fought to keep my sense of direction as I groped through the undergrowth and vines that clung to the trees and hung in curling strands like twisted snakes.

Twice I glanced over my shoulder, terrified that Scott would catch up with me. When I caught a glimpse of his white T-shirt through the undergrowth, I cried out in fear.

The patch of white vanished, and from that moment on there was no sign of Scott. It didn't matter if I could see him or not. I instinctively knew that he was silently following me.

By the time the woods had thinned out and I could see the houses ahead, I was gasping, choking, and gulping in air.

I was vaguely aware that someone was running toward me. He grabbed me and held me tightly, saying over and over again, “Calm down, Jess. Take it easy. You're all right.”

“Mark!” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “Pepper … Peaches … in the woods.”

“You found the graves,” he said.

“Yes, you knew?” I was shocked but still so shaken that all I could say was, “I've got to tell Mom and Dad … and Mr. Chamberlin.”

“And I'll help you,” Mark said. “We'll tell Mr. Chamberlin first.”

“No, not
first
,” I said, almost crying.

I tried to pull away, in the direction of my house, but Mark's grip was firm. “I was just with Mr. Chamberlin. He needs you, Jess.”

“He needs me?”

“Yes,” Mark said.

He took my hand and led me across the grass and up the steps to Mr. Chamberlin's. The front door was open, so we walked inside.

The living room was dark and chilly, shades drawn against the September heat and the air-conditioning set low—too low. I hugged myself, wrinkling my nose at the horrible, sour smell that clogged the air.

“Is he ill? Did you call the doctor?” I asked.

“A doctor won't help,” Mark answered. “Mr. Chamberlin drank some iced tea, and soon afterwards doubled over with cramps.”

“What …?” I began, but then I saw the pitcher of iced tea. It rested on the table in the small dining alcove and was in the shape of a green-and-gold glass parrot with a yellow beak. “Mark, I saw that pitcher in your kitchen. You brought the tea to Mr. Chamberlin.”

“Yes,” Mark said. “You look hot and tired, Jess. I'll pour you a glass of tea, too.”

“No, you won't! You've put something into it, haven't you? Mark, what is going on? Why were you with Mr. Chamberlin?”

Frightened, I backed against the wall, my shoulder pressing against the button that would make the outside light flash on and off. It was still daylight, and the light wouldn't be as visible as in
the dark, but it was the only thing I could think of to do.

Mark, unaware of what I had done, grabbed my arm and jerked me forward until we were in the dining alcove. There on the floor, in a puddle of stinking vomit, lay Mr. Chamberlin.

I pulled away from Mark and dropped to my knees, feeling Mr. Chamberlin's neck for a pulse.

“He's still alive,” I said as I got to my feet. “I'm going to call an ambulance.”

“No, you're not,” Mark said. “The phone's unplugged.”

“You're going to let him die?”

“It's his own fault, Jess. It's not mine.”

“What do you mean it's not yours? You poisoned him with … what?”

“Oleander. I didn't know it was poisonous until Lori told us. So I guess it's partly her fault, too.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “
You
poisoned him. How can you say it was Mr. Chamberlin's fault … and Lori's?”

“He talked about me. He said he saw evil in my eyes. He said he saw me capturing your cat.”

“You?” I tried to edge out of the room, but Mark caught my shoulder, gripping it so hard I cried out.

“Mark! Mr. Chamberlin didn't know who he saw! I told you that.”

“He would have thought more about it and figured it out. I couldn't take any chances. I'm supposed to have a perfect record, be a model student, a good citizen.”

I felt as though I were in the middle of a nightmare. Mark wasn't making sense. “Why did you kill the cats?” I asked.

Mark smiled, which was more chilling than if he'd snarled at me. “I told you, Jess. I have a temper. I don't like being yelled at, and I was angry at your attitude about the children's ward project. The credit, the glory—what good would it do you? It would have meant a lot to me.”

“You'd kill for it?”

“Who cares about a couple of stupid cats?”

I thought about the tiles that rested on the graves. I thought about Scott's words, “This is how I buried my cousin's cat.”

I tried to stay calm. “Are you the one who buried the cats?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “How did you like their headstones?”

I realized I was breathing in shallow gasps. I wasn't going to let myself hyperventilate and pass out. I forced myself to calm down. As soon as I could breathe evenly, I asked, “Mark, you've killed animals before, haven't you?”

“Only for a good reason.”

“Did you bury them the way you buried Pepper and Peaches? Did you make headstones for them?”

“No,” he said. “It's too much trouble. But once when I was younger I saw a cat's grave with a headstone on it, and I thought it was a good joke. So this time I copied it.” He gave a mock bow. “I did it especially for you, Jess. Now … how about that glass of iced tea?”

“No.”

“Come on, Jess,” Mark coaxed. “Make it easy on both of us. The police will find the remains of oleander on Mr. Chambelin's sink, and we'll all mourn the fact that you had iced tea with a senile old man who brewed oleander in with the tea bags. I might even be the hero who finds your bodies and tries to save your lives by calling an ambulance … which arrives too late, of course.”

“No!”

But Mark glowed with excitement. “I'll take your place as head of the volunteer committee. I'll be a model citizen. I might go so far as to visit the children's ward once in a while and pat a few little heads, but they better behave. Kids and cats remind me of each other. Now … there's a drinking glass, and there's the pitcher of tea. Pour it, Jess.”

I was no longer frightened just for myself. Through a red haze my terror became a fireball. Mark was a murderer. He was not going to get near those children!

His grip on my shoulder tightened painfully, but I swung my arm out, knocking over the pitcher. The tea gushed across the table, dripping on the carpet.

Furious, Mark yelled and shoved me, and I fell, hitting my head on the bookcase that divided the alcove from the living room. For a moment I couldn't see, and I felt myself slipping sideways, spinning around and around and … 
No!
I repeated over and over as I fought to regain consciousness. I heard voices, and I opened my eyes. Now Mark had lost interest in me. Instead he faced the open front door.

“You're not going to hurt her,” Scott said. “I won't let you.”

Mark laughed. “I'm taller and outweigh you by at least fifteen pounds. What makes you think you can take me on?”

“You've made a terrible mistake, Mark. Whatever your plans are, you're not smart enough to carry them out.”

“You're wrong about that. No one is smarter or more clever than me. Of course I use my genius in the wrong way. A team of doctors told me I am a sociopath. You didn't know that, did you?”

“I knew.”

For a moment Mark's bravado faltered. “You expect me to believe you figured that out? Ha! How could you know?”

“For years I've followed you. Ever since you terrorized my cousin's neighborhood. Ever since you murdered him.… He was like a brother to me. Paulie was only a child, and you murdered him.”

Mark broke in. “You've got that all wrong. I remember what happened. It was
his
fault, not mine. The jury agreed it was self-defense on my part.”

“It doesn't matter that some lawyer was able to make the jury buy your lies. You know, and so do I, what really took place.”

“It wasn't my fault,” Mark insisted, but Scott went on.

“At first I followed what you were doing through neighborhood gossip. We were aware each time you were arrested, and we dreaded each time you were released on probation. Then, when I was old enough to take the money I'd saved and go off on my own, I made sure I knew where you were. I vowed to myself you'd never go free.”

Mark hesitated. “I don't believe you. I helped the FBI. The protected witness program is totally secret.”

“I'm here, aren't I?” Scott paused only a few seconds, to let what he had said sink in. “No one suspects a kid in jeans. No one pays any attention to him. The Feds bought you that old Chevy on the same used-car lot in Houston where I bought my Ford. I just followed your aunt and uncle.”

Mark took a step to steady himself. His face paled. “If you could follow me, then …” He couldn't finish the sentence.

“The people you testified against could be after you, too. And I bet they're not as nice as I am.” Scott said. “Which is it going to be—them or me?”

Slowly, silently, I pulled myself upright, hoping Mark wouldn't notice. If Scott could keep Mark talking, maybe I could make it out the back door and run for help. I slid a few inches to my left.

But Mark saw me. Before I had time to react, he whirled to grab my arm, then snatched the parrot pitcher from the table, smashing it. He held aloft the handle with its heavy bottom broken into jagged points of glass.

“Back off!” he warned Scott.

“Mark,” I pleaded, “Scott isn't going to hurt you.”

“He thinks he is,” Mark said. “He came to get revenge.”

“No,” I said. “He wouldn't.” I begged Scott, “Listen to me, please. Revenge isn't the answer. It's never the answer. It just leads to more hurt, to more killing, to more—”

“Shut up!” Mark yelled, and shoved me to the floor. I landed so hard I bit my tongue. I could taste the blood in my mouth.

Through all this Scott hadn't moved. Quietly he said, “I didn't come to get revenge, Jess. I came to make sure Mark didn't ruin any other lives.” He glanced at Mr. Chamberlin and shook his head. “I guess I failed. When I saw Mark had killed Peaches, I knew he was still sick.”

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Mark yelled. For a long moment he breathed heavily through his mouth, his eyes on Scott.

“Come with me, Mark,” Scott coaxed. “Let's get help for you. Let's call the police.”

Suddenly Mark lunged for Scott and slammed him in the side of the head with the broken pitcher.

Scott dropped to the floor and lay without
moving. I could see a thin trickle of blood creeping down the side of his face.

“Scott!” I cried, and tried to crawl toward him.

Mark grabbed my arm and jerked me to my feet. Holding the jagged edge of the pitcher toward me, he snapped, “Get up, Jess. Come with me. Don't give me any trouble.”

“Where?” I asked, trying to stall for time.
Someone notice that blinking alarm light and come to help! Someone! Please!

Mark gleamed with the smile Mom had said was charming. “I'm going to satisfy your curiosity, Jess. You wanted to see the ancient cemetery in the woods, didn't you?”

“Scott said it didn't exist.”

Mark shook his head sadly. “Poor Scott. He wasn't telling you the truth. He's a liar. I'm not.”

“He was trying to protect me.”

“He isn't doing a very good job of it, is he?” Mark laughed and stepped over Scott, pulling me with him. “He'll be out until I get back to take care of him.”

As we went down the porch steps, Mark moved close to me, the glass shards jammed against my side. I glanced toward my house, but he said, “Your father's at the golf club, and your mother's out shopping. We had a nice neighborly visit before she left, which gave me a chance to tell her you had gone to visit Lori.”